


The Summer Sun

by Bellobelle



Series: The Secret Prince [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minor Gwen/Leon, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellobelle/pseuds/Bellobelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen starts to adjust to his new life in Camelot with Arthur and Merlin. Sequel to The Secret Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Summer Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some months after the return to Camelot. This fic is a very short snapshot of a sequel to The Secret Prince. I'm so sorry it took me so long to write it! Thank you so very much for reading.

He is so gorgeously, wonderfully, perfectly alive. It seems that the tears from the last few months are drying at last, drifting away and disappearing into the noontime sun. Yes, Merlin thinks to himself, he can practically watch his son’s young heart mending before his eyes. The sun flashes from Owen’s sword and lights up his face, and all the while Owen is oblivious to how dazzling he is. 

Watching the mock fight, Merlin feels himself mending. The dark hole in his chest, made by the cruel absence of his husband and child for seven long years, is being filled by the blinding brightness of the life they now have. 

Merlin lets his thoughts drift upon the waves of his senses. The world around him is vibrant, and Merlin breathes it all in, the smell of grass and leather and horses, the feeling of the warm sun against his upturned face, shining with summer colors. Through all of it is Arthur’s voice, firm but patient, accompanied by the clashing and clanging of his sword against Owen’s. Arthur will give instruction, and Owen will move, his face screwed up in concentration to swing the sword the way Arthur instructs. The sounds of Owen’s training are serene in the breeze of the day. 

Merlin is jolted from his thoughts as Gwen appears at his side, smiling at the scene. 

“Owen is quite a natural at sword fighting,” she observes as she takes her place on the bench beside Merlin. She places the pads of her fingers lightly on Merlin’s forearm where it rests against his knee. 

Merlin nods in happy agreement. 

_Combat suits him well, as does his new sword, I see._

As Merlin speaks, the child-sized sword flashes in Owen’s hands as he arcs it high above his head. Created in Gwen’s smithy, it was the best Camelot had to offer Owen, and Owen had accepted it with a look of pure awe and reverence. He’d named it Mighty One on the spot, and hadn’t parted with it since. 

“He’ll need armor soon enough,” Gwen says, “If he enjoys sword fighting as much as he seems to.” 

_He’s so young for battle armor,_ Merlin says, though he knows Gwen is right. While Owen seems young to Merlin because he has only known him a short while, the truth is that Owen is nearing battle age already. He may be small, but this was the age Arthur was when Uther started taking him on campaigns to learn the art of war. 

_He’s still a child,_ Merlin insists. 

“He’ll be a child for a long while yet,” Gwen assures him, “There’s still time, Merlin.” 

Merlin sighs. As he does so, he watches Arthur feign a blow to the right, then knock Mighty One out of Owen’s hands when he’s not expecting it. 

“Not fair!” Owen pouts, scrambling to pick up his sword, carefully brushing off the dirt and checking it for dents. 

“In battle that’s something you’ll have to prepare for,” Arthur tells him, “A good swordsman is always two steps ahead of his opponent. You have to be ready to defend and attack all at once. Come on, let’s go again.” 

Owen nods his head vigorously and steps into the fighting stance Arthur taught him earlier: one foot slightly in front of the other, knees bent, hands gripping his sword tight. 

Merlin’s lips twitch into a smile. Owen looks so like Arthur, he thinks, with his jaw set in determination like that. He even scrunches up his face the same way when he fights, lips puckered and eyebrows high. Merlin can almost see it already, the image of Owen all grown up and standing beside Arthur in his battle armor, sword aloft, ready to take on whatever threat to Camelot there may be. It swells Merlin’s heart with pride, but it also touches him with sadness, the feeling that his son grew up while Merlin wasn’t there. 

There’s a loud clang of metal on metal, and Mighty One lands in the dirt again with a dull thud. 

“You’ve got to watch for--” 

“--your feint, I know,” Owen says, “Let’s go again.” He plucks Mighty One from the ground and holds it at the ready. 

A pleased smile appears on Arthur’s face as though he is startled by it, then he nods and prepares to begin again. 

“Owen!” Comes a small voice accompanied by pounding feet, and then Myrna, Gwen’s young daughter, skids to a halt on the training field. Owen lowers his sword as she approaches. 

“Owen!” She shouts excitedly, “Father says he will take me fishing in the river and he’ll teach me to skin whatever I catch! Would you like to come with?” She points her finger to Sir Leon following not far behind her, holding a pair of fishing rods over his shoulder. 

“Right now?” Owen asks, looking wistful. 

“Yeah!” Myrna shouts. She’s nearly overflowing with glee, balancing on the tips of her toes. 

“But I’m learning how to fight,” Owen says, “I’m only just learning how to watch for Sir Arthur’s feints, I can’t stop now!” 

Merlin notices the way Arthur grimaces at the title Owen uses to refer to him. Owen doesn’t. 

“But you’ve been practicing for _ever_ ,” Myrna says, “You haven’t been out to play in so long and father is going to teach us how to _skin a fish_.” She waves her arms to emphasize the last three words as if learning how to skin a fish is the most exciting thing to happen since Christmas. 

Owen does look tempted. 

“But…” 

Sir Leon arrives to stand behind his daughter. “If it’s alright with you, my lord,” he says to Arthur, “I’d be happy to take the prince along.” 

Both Owen and Myrna look up at Arthur, who looks consideringly between them. 

“Oh, please,” Myrna begs with her hands folded beneath her chin, “I’m sure Owen’s been doing very well practicing, he deserves a break, doesn’t he?” Then, as a hasty afterthought, “Sire?” 

“He has been doing very well,” Arthur replies, looking proudly at Owen. Owen blushes and looks at the ground. “And skinning a fish is a skill every young person should learn.” 

Owen’s gaze remains fixed on the ground. His face turns steadily redder. 

“You can go if you want, Owen, you’ve practiced enough today,” Arthur says. He lifts his gaze to briefly smile at Merlin, then back to Owen. 

Owen doesn’t respond right away. He drives the tip of Mighty One into the ground and twists it, slowly, watching the blade slice through the grass and dirt. 

“Hooray!” Myrna exclaims, “Come on!” 

Finally Owen mumbles something, so quietly that Merlin can’t hear from where he’s sitting. 

“What was that?” Arthur asks, leaning in. Owen grimaces and looks up from the grass. Face still red, he says, 

“Could you come with me?” 

Arthur looks so surprised at the request that he doesn’t check the look of shock that crosses his face. Merlin himself sucks in a sharp breath when Owen speaks the words, still spoken so quietly. 

Owen must mistake Arthur’s look of surprise for rejection, for he drops his gaze to the grass again. 

“You want me to come with you?” Arthur asks, a little faintly. Owen nods. 

Arthur tears his gaze away from Owen to share a look of delighted disbelief. 

“Oh, yes!” Myrna squeals, clapping her hands together, “Sir Arthur could come too, then perhaps he and father could catch us a rabbit and he could teach us to skin that too! We could hold a feast for Mother and Lord Merlin!” 

Sir Leon places his hand on Myrna’s shoulder to quiet her. She closes her mouth, but remains bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. 

Owen keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the grass. His cheeks have gotten somehow redder, and he works Mighty One further into the dirt. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and lowers himself down to one knee, so that he can lean in towards Owen’s downcast face. 

“I would love to go,” he says. 

Owen looks up sharply. 

“Really?” 

“Yes!” Arthur replies, grinning as brightly as the summer sun above them, “Fishing is great fun. I think it would be a great way to finish up the day, don’t you think?” 

Owen nods. 

“My father used to take me fishing when I was your age,” Arthur says, “Maybe I can teach you some of the tricks he taught me, eh?” 

There’s only a long silence after that, in which Owen stands still as stone, and Arthur’s smile freezes as he realizes what he’s just said. Nothing moves but the breeze lightly stirring the grass. 

Finally Arthur coughs and says, “Well, anyways. Why don’t we put away our swords and get going?” 

That gets Owen to move, turning away from Arthur to bound across the field to the sword rack right beside where Merlin and Gwen are sitting. He carefully leans his sword against it so that it doesn’t nick. Arthur comes up at a careful distance behind him. Merlin catches his eye and offers a smile. Arthur returns it, eyes full of wonderment. 

As soon as Owen is satisfied that Mighty One is safe in the rack, Myrna calls out to him, “Come on, I’ll race you!” and begins running back the way she came, towards the woods. 

Owen grins and tears after her across the field. 

Arthur leans his own sword against the rack beside Owen’s. As he does so, Merlin reaches out to grab Arthur’s hand in his own. 

_Have a good time,_ he says, rubbing his thumb across Arthur’s knuckles. 

“I will,” Arthur replies, squeezing Merlin’s fingers. “We’ll be home soon.” 

_You’d better._

Arthur’s smile softens. 

“I promise.” 

With that he gently tugs his hand away and inclines his head towards Gwen, then starts off to where Leon is waiting for him, still holding the fishing rods. As they turn to leave, Leon presses a kiss to his free hand and raises it towards Gwen. 

“I told you,” Gwen says, once Leon and Arthur have left the field, “Owen is still a child. He’s going to do just fine here.” 

_I know,_ says Merlin, And he does. He can feel it in his bones, in his magic, that everything will be alright with his son. It will take time, he knows, for him to adjust to this new life. But he will. It will just take time. 

Merlin settles back against the bench and closes his eyes, content. He lifts his face up and lets himself bask in the warmth of the bright summer sun.


End file.
